Metamorphosis
by Childe
Summary: They're lost in a world that makes no sense. But they're trying. - Short stories with common themes.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note:

Hello. Please note that the story description, genre and main characters may change after each published chapter.

We begin with a story about the lack of warmth and family in Sai's life and his misassumption that love is only about what you can offer to others.

* * *

A MARVELOUS STILLNESS pervades the world and the sky is clear.

It is winter and snow covers the dead land like a warm blanket. The surface of the lake is smooth and silent.

Dressed in black, a young man is taking a walk around the lake. His cheeks and ears burning red. His eyelashes and the tip or his wispy black hair are frozen white. There's a lost look in his eyes.

It is December.

The trees shimmer under the dazzling sun.

Sai is alone.

A cool breeze travel over the frozen lake as if a pair of gigantic lungs had sighed a weary sigh. Sai ducks his head low and tenses his shoulders. His dark gaze settles near the trunk of a spruce where a sparrow is huddled up, its little body shivering violently.

Sai crouches down in front of it and stares.

"It is cold out here. Don't you have a warm home to go to?" he asks with all the seriousness of expecting an answer.

The beady black eyes of the grey-brown bird gaze at Sai. They remind him of his older brother and he is visibly startled.

Struck by a sense of urgency Sai says, "You must be hungry. Wait for me and I will bring you food. Just, wait for me ..."

The blinding rays of the sun momentarily blind Sai as he hastens along a trodden path.

In the few hours when Sai is gone and has returned to the spruce next to the path circling the lake, the world has spun into night.

The stars sprinkled across the sky's black canvas throb as one, as if to the beat of an invisible heart. The wind within the North Star's eye howls its complaint across the still surface of the lake.

Sai looks for his little sparrow and finds the small bird huddled in the exact same place, but completely effaced within the dim light. He crouches down again, with a joyous curl to his lips. He extends his arm. The tip of his fingers are icy blue. Seeds rest at the center of his palm. A puff of air escapes Sai's mouth as he waits for the little bird to hop into the cup of his hand and devour its meal.

Except the sparrow does not move.

Sai gently gathers the fragile sparrow into his embrace and he tries to defrost the stiffness of death from the poor creature.

It is Christmas and Sai leans against the rough bark of the towering spruce and weeps.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note

This chapter is inspired by "Kokou no Hito". A top quality manga about rock climbing/mountaineering.

Some mountaineering terms I suggest familiarizing yourself with:

- Bivouacking = A temporary encampment often in an unsheltered area.

- Free soloing = Ascending alone without ropes, harnesses and other protective gear. One relies on physical strength, climbing ability and psychological fortitude to avoid a fatal fall.

- Acclimatization = At high altitude all mountaineers need to do this, which basically means climbing higher to acclimatize to the low oxygen level and atmospheric pressure, but returning to lower elevations to sleep. Mountaineers usually start using bottled oxygen when climbing above 7000 meters but exceptional mountaineers have climbed 8000 meter peaks without oxygen by employing a carefully planned regiment of acclimatization.

- Pumped = Slang for extreme tiredness, when a climber reaches his limit.

Without further ado ...

This one's about a boy who wanted to become god.

* * *

THE DEMOISELLE CRANE flies high in V formation against the vividly blue sky at an altitude of 8000 meters in order to cross the Himalayan Mountains from the China side to India. By the smallest species of crane with a wingspan of less than a meter, this nearly impossible feat is undertaken every year for the sole purpose of breeding.

With suffocatingly low oxygen levels and temperatures dropping to -40 Celsius degrees, it is unimaginable for life to exist in these conditions. Yet the Demoiselle Crane risk their lives to fly among the high mountain peaks, casting gliding shadows against the wasteland of rock and snow.

One moment the birds block the blinding sun, a halo of rays appearing around their bodies and the next moment, a violent gust of the Himalayan wind breaks their formation, and their bodies twist and turn like rag dolls. Their only hope for survival is to catch an updraft under their wings, yet some of the birds are throws thousands of meters behind and others are slammed against the ground. Only a few manage to fight their way up.

Most remarkably, the cranes remain unconscious throughout most of their journey. For these survivors, there is no awareness in their orange, orbicular eyes as they make their way through instinct.

With simply the will to reach higher.

* * *

Date: July 17th  
Time: 2:21 PM  
Route: K2 South Face  
Location: Terrace part-way up the Hanging Glaciers  
Altitude: 8212 metres  
Air Temperature: -28 Celsius

There is nothing but snow. Snow and the wind. Nothing should exit here, yet in this vast monochromatic land I, a single man, am attempting to solo climb the K2 along the suicide route called "the Polish line." No man has considered attempting this route since the Polish climber Kukuczka's attempt in 1986.

I am the only survivor of my expedition. The rest are buried under an avalanche. But I can't think about such matters now. Not if I want to keep surviving.

Standing at 8611 meters, the K2 may not be the highest mountain, but with the cruel Himalayan winds causing storms and avalanches on the isolated peak, K2 holds an extremely high fatality rates and is considered the most dangerous and difficult mountain to climb in the world. No one in history has attempted to reach the summit of K2 during winter. Even during the best climbing season, the summer, K2 is merciless. This holds all the more true for the dangerous and exposed South side where there is no place to hide from the elements.

I have already entered what is called "the death zone". This is the 8000 mark after which there isn't enough oxygen to sustain a human life. From there on, I have discarded everything except the most essential of climbing equipment. In my light weight day pack I carry a bivouac sack, a thermos, a jet boiler, a small supply of food consisting of four snicker bars and two bags of tea and a 5.5 mm rope. I have not brought a bottle of oxygen.

From now on acclimatizing is useless and bivouacking for too long means freezing to death.

Regardless of that, I am taking a necessary short rest before attempting a high cliff of ice wall. Then it will be a free solo attempt with double axes as I no longer have the time to spare for security.

My red bivouac sack, made of thin water proof fabric - has been thrown over my head. It is all the barrier I have against the whipping wind.

Physically and mentally I am already at my limit.

I feel like a little child again, hiding underneath the blanket. It is relatively warm here and I can pretend that it is very cozy and that I don't have to ever leave from this hider-hole I've made myself. In fact, because I can't see outside, I might pretend the world outside does not exist at all.

Warming my hands with the jet boiler propped between my tired legs, I look with curious eyes as I flex these numb digits called fingers open and close … open and close.

My meal consists of a single snicker bar, which I devour, although I can't taste it. It should be enough to sustain my for the day.

When checking the elevation meter on my wrist, it has shown that the altitude has risen 50 meters, despite the fact that I have not moved a step from my site. This is proof that the atmospheric pressure has gone down and with the wind blowing from south-east, there is no doubt the weather will deteriorate soon.

* * *

'Relatively secure footing. Check. Ice axes hooked at the correct degree to gain balance. Check. Arm. Leg. Arm. Leg. Steady breaths. Climb by relying on the feet.'

Nagato climbs the ice wall, higher and higher like the demoiselle crane.

* * *

It is July 17th, 3:56 PM. Over an hour has passed since my departure.

I suddenly come back to consciousness.

Gasping for air, I look left and right with wide blood shot eyes. My vision is abnormal, spotty. I am suffering from hemorrhage.

"Huh? I made it to the top of the high wall?"

A gust of snow blows into my goggled eyes. ... As expected of the Himalayan wind, I can't see far. With limited visibility, I can only rely on the map in my head.

A check from my elevation meter shows an altitude of 2418 meters. It confirms that I have indeed ascended from the 8200 meter terrace without a recollection.

I keep fighting my way up, but the gods themselves seem to be trying to pull me down.

Without my previous notice, the clouds have covered the sky and a moist updraft crosses over, unexpectedly fast. Without a doubt, a storm is about to be leashed.

I reach the edge of the cliff, but I am unable to muster the strength to use my axe and a heel hook to pull myself up. Both my arms and legs aren't functioning properly anymore. And my feet are in agony. I am pumped to the point where the tightened muscles of my forearm can't seem to hold on to anything for long. When all is done, I will have probably lost all my toes and fingers.

... I don't care as long as I can take the next step forward …

With that thought, I manage to swing my leg to chest level, flex my hamstring and push myself up.

Now, it's only 200 meters to the top.

The invisible gun shot has gone off and all that's left is to sprint to the finishing line.

I suddenly realize it is a line I can no longer see.

* * *

Nagato takes a step forward. He slumps to his knees. His eyes roll to the back of his head. His mouth hangs open. Every singly cell in his body feels to be split in two.

Go. Don't go. Go. Don't go.

Body torn apart ...

Will torn apart ...

His mind torn ...

"Impossible!"

"So close ... have endured too much ... will not die."

'I am dying!'

'Will make it! I'm a survivor. I'm the immortal Pein!'

* * *

The wind picks up.

It is said that for every meter per second the wind blows the body temperature drops by a degree celsius. With temperatures currently closing in on -40 celsius degrees, the probability of Nagato catching hypothermia have always been very high.

* * *

Somewhere inside, I know it's over.

It is then that a vision appears in front of me. Of a dark, ominous figure standing defeatedly on the summit of K2.

"Aaah ... I must have reached the peak," I think dazedly. "This must be heaven and I can now die at the very top."

The vision wavers and a prickling heat makes its way up my body.

It suddenly feels like black fire is consuming me. I shed as much of my clothing as fast as I can, but I can't escape this hell of pain.

I begin to tear at my own skin.

* * *

There is a scream of anguish.

Nagato falls on his face.

* * *

Why ... Why did I choose this path, this life?

What if ... I regret?

* * *

In this hell of ice, Nagato remains, never to enter the recycle of birth and death.

As they fly by, from the perspective of a demoiselle crane, it appears as if Nagato is hugging himself.


End file.
